The death of Basil D'Oliveira is not only sad in itself, but a reminder of a watershed not only for cricket and its dealings with apartheid, but also for consciousness about racism in society and in ourselves.

D'Oliveira himself became a symbol for non-whites (as they were called) in South Africa, and for racial minorities in this country. As CLR James wrote about cricket in West Indies during the colonial era, "the cricket field was a stage on which selected individuals played representative roles charged with social significance". Being such a symbol was not, I suspect, something that D'Oliveira relished. But he was willing to bear the representative role, to be of social significance. He desperately wanted to be selected for the tour of South Africa in 1968-9, to enhance the proper pride of his compatriots. But he refused to be drawn into politics more directly. He left that to others. He also turned down offers of large sums of money from the South African government to make himself unavailable for the tour, and later, in the 1980s, to coach on behalf of the government.

As a cricketer he was an exceptional player of fast bowling. He once described Wes Hall and Charlie Griffith, bowlers who terrified batsmen in the 1960s, as "a nice bonking pace". He was more than useful as a bowler, with his medium paced outswingers. As captain of England between 1969 and 1973, Ray Illingworth would turn to D'Oliveira at moments of tension or to break partnerships, and he never let him down. He had his disappointments too, notably during the tour of West Indies in 1967, when he himself said that "I had too much to drink, I lived too well." He was under pressure from all sides, from militant black groups accusing him of selling out, to friends relying on him to carry the flag of non-white cricket, to those who would prefer him to be out of the picture. One of the things that seemed so wrong about his not being selected for the tour of South Africa, immediately after scoring 158 against Australia in the final test at the Oval in 1968, was that this innings was a triumph of composure and determination under extreme scrutiny and pressure.

So what was the social significance of what became known as the D'Oliveira affair? First of course there was the tangible political outcome; from 1969 South Africa was isolated from international sport, not only in cricket. More broadly, it was one stage in the ongoing fight for awareness of the prevalence of racism in our society, and in ourselves.

The overt political stance against apartheid became possible because of a shift in emphasis, a shift in perception. First, many people were made more radical, more aware of the ramifying impact of racism, and in particular of our (English) collusion in it when we participated against white teams from a country whose whole structure was based on apartheid.

Secondly, the issue was now more prominent. It was closer to consciousness. Even those who argued for continuing contacts had to deal with the counter-arguments. It was on agendas. It could not be shuffled off as unimportant. Through the 1970s, for instance, though a majority of professional cricketers in this country were opposed to measures restricting contact between English cricketers and South Africa, their views were challenged.

The arguments for contacts were not risible. No doubt such relationships might nudge South African opinion towards a more liberal attitude. No doubt it was hard on sportsmen to bear the brunt of the bans, while businessmen were not precluded from dealings with that country. No doubt there was a limitation on people's freedom. No doubt many in the white South African establishment would have preferred to have a more open system within their sport. And – another question that was sometimes asked – how could we be sure that the outcome of isolation would be better in the long run?

We could not be sure. But as Alan Paton, the South African novelist and author of Cry, the Beloved Country, said to me in Pietermaritzburg in 1965, there comes a time when the inevitable uncertainties about the future have to be set aside, and we have to decide for ourselves: does it feel right or wrong, are we willing to have dealings, including sporting dealings, with a country permeated by all-embracing injustice? My view, sharpened by the D'Oliveira affair, was that I was not, and that English cricket should not be.

The wider issues keep popping up; but the size of the reaction is a measure of our increased awareness. By minimising the degree of hurt and outrage of caused by racist insults during sporting encounters, Sepp Blatter, president of Fifa, caused more offence than he imagined. England's football captain is being investigated for possible racist remarks on the field. No one can get away with things; they can't be covered up.

The situation is not unlike that concerning rape. It has taken us a long time to appreciate fully the humiliation that racism creates, how insidious it is, how contemptuous to the recipient; rape likewise. It is now impossible to speak flippantly or casually about such things without creating a flurry of protest. Of course, we risk over-simplification, solemnity and a victim mentality that can be too politically correct. But we are right to get worked up about dismissing too carelessly the hurt caused. We are right to prioritise the damage of racist attitudes, to hold others and ourselves to account for assumptions of superiority or entitlement.

Sport, perhaps most notably football, has played an important role in lessening racism in British society.

Today, the big issue facing cricket is, of course, corruption. Here too it has taken a long time for cricket people to be sufficiently aware of the damage such activities do. We resist such awareness. ICC's anti-corruption unit is accused by players and ex-players of lacking teeth; its former chair, Lord Condon, accuses players of not being sufficiently forceful in reporting abuses they knew about or suspected. Probably the truth is that we all come to recognise the full impact of an evil too slowly.

Basil D'Oliveira retained his dignity throughout the ordeal of being at the centre of the storm. It was a storm that helped change the atmosphere of cricket and of our society more generally. And it was a real storm, arousing strong passions, including coldness and fury. David Sheppard proposed the motion of no confidence at the MCC special meeting held in December 1968, and I seconded it. Before the meeting had been finalised, we were called in to the MCC committee room. Sir Alec Douglas-Home, then shadow foreign secretary, had flown down from Scotland to persuade us to drop the meeting. He was glacial in conveying the message that we were naïve and childish in suggesting that hypothetical questions should have been put to the South African authorities, asking them to say whether whoever was selected for England would be acceptable. Yet it turned out that such questions had been asked, and answered (in the negative), an answer known only to a small circle at the top of MCC.

I was naïve; I came to realise that a political movement contains all sorts of shades of opinion. But the most significant message, shared by many people of a wide range of political positions, was that racism must be opposed, and that it is all too easy to take an easy course, as I had done a few years before, in touring South Africa for MCC in 1964-5.

The uproar directly provoked the exclusion of South Africa from world sport, about which, in retrospect, Graeme Pollock, the hugely gifted South African batsman deprived of Test cricket for much of his prime, said (as quoted by Peter Oborne in his book on D'Oliveira): "Peter Hain [the leader of the 'Stop the 1970 Tour' movement] and his guys got it absolutely right that the way to bring about change in South Africa was through sport."

D'Oliveira himself had a highly successful career after the storm (as well as before it), as player and as coach. And when South Africa rejoined the world of cricket from the 1990s, he was recognised in his home country as a pioneer. Appropriately, England and South Africa now play Test series for the Basil D'Oliveira trophy.